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The Lesson of Ice
I remember my first winter on Boreth. I was little more then a child, left by my father, abandoned by my brother to the Monastry. A hopeless warrior, and too small for science, I was a burden on my House - i belonged to my fate. The cold however, was new to me, a bitter, hateful sensation. I awoke one morning, shivering, nothing left in my body to keep me warm, no hope or love, passion or hatred... and saw that the small window of my stone cell had grown a sheet of ice. A thousand points of cold, growing, bristling, almost unimaginably complex. When I saw that it wasn’t just my window, but the entire world, from horizon to horizon, I was gripped by a profound sense of awe. Without a drop of blood being spilled, Boreth had been conquered - and I along with it. ''-- Korrath, Azaram. personal logs.'' -/-/-/-/- the lesson of ice\-\-\- Earth. Suddenly so much made sense. A lush, fatted world, unmarred by the scars of conflict. What did humanity know of war – not ship to ship, but man to man, with knife and gun and blood? With a planet so succulent, it’s a wonder they ever left at all – the rest of the galaxy would have certainly been better off. Peacekeeping. Exploration. Noble goals, once touted by the Federation as their core tenants. But now, the humans are like a sorvat, crawling into it’s shell, terrified of it’s own shadow, while the forest burns. We but walk the Red Path, we do not ask it to explain itself. The Qu Vo’Kahless hangs over this…perfect world… and I tremble to think that in this cesspool of words and windy promises, we may find salvation. Underneath the fat, between the stainless statuary and manicured wilderness, we hope to find someone whose heart still beats true. Someone who hasn’t forgotten that men once died not for planet, or a people, but for an ideal. They called it Starfleet. We were handed from the Miranda C and it’s Captain Fishlips to a new ship for nursemaiding. At least the new vessel showed some teeth. It was called the Majestic, captained by a man named Data. I was rude to him when we met – I had heard from my father of the tin man, the Federation’s clockwork officer, and thought to impress him with my boasting. Sometimes, it is hard to not be Klingon. I regret my words; I regret many things that were set in motion that day. Captain Data invited Ariennye and I to dine aboard his ship; for my part, I wanted to meet a man with courage but no heart – I imagine she accepted to assess the current strength of a Federation flagship. The Captain was a gracious host – but he cooked a dish… GOMM BOW, he called it, a dish from Earth’s antiquity, but cooked with succulent, gagth instead of whatever tasteless flesh the earthers mash. It was… unlike anything. If war could be fought with cuisine instead of blades and blood, with this GommBow I could take the Empire – I could take all Empires. Earth itself was every shred as grotesquely decadent as I’d imagined, a opulent morass of hedonistic pleasure slaves… but for another taste of GommBow, I would forgive it these sins. Sadly, Captain Data is no longer able to craft that unique specialty - but my story gets ahead of itself. Over dinner, Captain Data laid out the different factions currently at play within the Federation upper eschelons – to think that I was about to play a game of politics turned my stomach, but as I’ve been quick to tell my crew, not every battle must be fought with a bat’leth. He told us of a Vulcan senator climbing to power, hungry to clamp up the borders of their space – as far as I can tell, a Vulcan is just a Romulan without desire or joy – we will find no friend in him. A catman, Senator Katalka, dislikes the Romulans, but seems to know the score – I must admit, I have some desire to see talking sabercat… I wonder how many hours in the day he spends sleeping in the sun? The last name however drew my attention – Senator Riker. Riker of the Beard, the fist of the Picard, honored enemy of my house. Captain Data arranged an introduction. I would like to think about Earth as little as possible. Meeting the Riker was a disappointment; while he might have struck a heroic figure in his youth, the man we met was a gaunt, white haired admiral, well suited for command of a desk. He knew of my brother’s threat, but informed us that the current danger was coming from Breen Space – deep station number 9 seems to have already been a target. To him, we must have seemed like water in the desert: while the Federation would be ripped apart from a two front Breen/Klingon invasion, for the price of but one small planet, the Romulans would step in, drawing my brother’s forces away. We left Riker with high hopes – we shall see if he is able to deliver. On our way to meet with Senator Catman, we were stopped by a man named Erickson, dressed in black. Even before he opened his mouth, I knew what he was – a spider in the dark. He claimed to be able to offer a planet by the name of Kaltos-7; in return, all we would have to do is kill the Catman. I must admit, a single life for a planet seemed a small cost – Ariennye however refused; despite cloaking herself in shadow and delighting in slitting throats, she doesn’t view herself as a killer – she may be an assassin, but she’s an assassin who works for herself. Meeting with the Catman (who sadly did not once purr or ask for fish), we not only convinced him of the importance of siding with the Romulan Empire (one scan of the Qu Vo’Kahless was all he needed to ascertain their superior technology) but also that a certain man was seeking his death. We had his support as well. Outside his office, we once again met the man in black - this time, he brought friends. I wouldn’t say I’ve always wanted to kill a human, but if they all fall as easily, I truly wonder at their place in the universe. I believe I chopped off a man’s head. Ariennye, as ever, was a sight to behold; while I shrugged off the human phaser blasts, she snuffed out their lives from the shadows. It was glorious to feel my bat’leth singing in my hand, the blood running red from it’s edge. It’s easy to understand why this and this alone means so much to my people - the song of battle literally calls out to my bones. Swept up in the moment, standing over our enemies, I found myself face to face with Ariennye, a sister of my house. I kissed her. She struck me. It was a glorious battle. After Riker calmed down the responding officers - who looked as bloodless as the bodies on the floor - he asked us to aide him, as a show of good faith. As a show of good faith, we just rid his planet of six avowed traitors, but we allowed him to ask: the planet Bejor was facing a Breen invasion fleet. The Majestic and our friend Captain Data would be responding - we agreed. I had tasted battle - my men deserved nothing less. -------//------- Appearing over Bejor with the Majestic, things were already going wrong. A second Federation ship, the London, was in a parked orbit - apparently the ship was in open rebellion, crewed by Federation mutineers. An armada appeared on our scanners - not the Breen, but a disparate collection of Cardassians. There is a time for standing in the light - this was not that time. I cloaked the ship. Hailing the Cardassian flagship, I was met by little more then a boy. He called himself Barada, a name he seemed to think mattered. The child was rude, but there was iron in his voice; I was little older then him when I slew my first targ - he was leading a war fleet. More importantly, he claimed to be leading the fleet in Bejor’s defense. With incoming Breen signals, I had no choice but to take him at his word. If the battle played out as I saw in that moment, the boy captain was to be sorely tested. There was fire in him. Thousands looked to him for command. I wonder if he still hears their cries. When the Breen appeared, they blocked out the sky. Massive ships, deadly - and armed with torpedoes that ripped through ship shields as if they were made of an Orion dancing girl’s underclothes. The Cardassian fleet took heavy losses immediately - the Majestic... I had only known the ship a short time, its captain even less. But to see something that powerful, that perfectly designed, shattered by something as vile as Breen torpedoes, without even a chance at retaliation, wounded me more then the dozen blasts of phaser fire that had ripped my skin. Watching that ship fall towards the planet, reduced to burning scrap, will be something I never forget. We held back. I could see it in the eyes of my crew - doubt, creeping in. “Only a fool fights the storm” I told them. The wisdom of Kahless, true then, and true now. From the other side of the planet, another set of signals. Four ships, also Cardassian, but bristling with Breen tech. One man can’t fight the storm - but for the Ku Vo’Kahless, one on four were perfect odds. Remaining cloaked, we let the enemy ships rush towards us, unknowing. When we were within their shield radius, we matched their speed, sending a squad of warriors into the bellies of each, including deadly Ariennye. Within moments, two ships were destroyed, our men returned to us; the third ship was left without shields - we do not know what happened to our fourth boarding party, but I know they died with honor. And then, everything changed. I’m told now that they are called Crystalline Entities, but when I saw them, all I could think of was the cold of Boreth. I was a child once again, faced with one of the fundamental powers of the universe... but this time, I was not alone. I had people looking to me for leadership; I had a ship with a destiny. Inside of me, I burned with a new fire. I walk the Red Path - I choose to live. The next moments are a confusion. Men started disappearing, entire ships left crewless in an instant, consumed by these insatiable beings. The London, a ship I hadn’t given a moments thought to, was struck a crippling blow, and began plunging towards Bejor’s surface. Ariennye, who had been sent to capture the third ship, returned to us - apparently, the young Cardassian Captain had claimed the ship for himself. I would have been happy to control that craft, but I was also glad to know the young man survived - though after his defeat, and the slaughtering of his people, he may not feel the same way. His fleet was scattered across space, burning debris made of steel and regret. There was a feeling in my gut. Something on the surface of the planet. It felt familiar, like a whisper. Or a … dream. With the Magestic a shattered ruin, my eye was drawn to the falling London, now tumbling out of the sky, pulled into Bejor’s gravity well. There were lifesigns. We didn’t owe the Federation anything. I had 98 souls on my ship. On the London, over 300. We could have left them. The tin captain would not have left them. I ordered the Ku Vo’Kahless into orbit. A norpin falcon after a plummeting warrigul, our tractor beam wasn’t nearly strong enough to catch it. “To beam anyone aboard, we’ll have to drop our cloak!” I think is was Ariennye shouting. “Captain,” definitely Pol, her voice cutting through the din, “ the cloak may be the only thing keeping us safe. We can not drop it.” It was a... logical conclusion. The London was tumbling from the sky, but I’m sure it would be soon stripped of life as well. I did not think it was the cloak keeping us safe. The cold of Boreth was in my bones... and it burned. “Beam aboard everyone we can. Drop cloak on my mark. “Maq’tah”. Our transporters lit red hot. Though they had no eyes, I felt a Crystalline Entity focus it’s attention on us, almost a kick in the chest. We grabbed 250 bewildered crewmen from the London. Not everyone, but enough. There was a Vulcan in blue on my bridge, clearly an officer. There wasn’t time for introductions. We raised the cloak, and pulled the ship around, my crew preforming admirably. We lept to warp - In the moment of our vulnerability, the Crystal beings consumed 60 of my men. Good men, warriors, they had walked the Red Path, and found the gates of StoVoKor. I wonder how my father will great them? Flying into warp, one of the Crystalline Entities gave chase. Though we were fully cloaked, now that it had seen us, it could not look away. It was gaining on us, our swift ship falling closer towards it’s crystalline fields. The crew fell away. The Vulcan was doing something at a control panel, but that was not my concern, not now. Bejor was being annihilated behind us, millions vanishing in a moment. That was not my concern, not now. My ship. My crew. I looked into myself. Into the black at the heart of me. I went deeper. The Crystalline Entity found me there. It looked at me as if it had never been seen before. It dropped from warp, letting us leave, growing small on our scanners, until it was far behind. The Vulcan is a commander named Nezzak. He had tried to beam several targets from Bejor’s surface. For a moment, we had had two beings - a Gem’Hadar and a Vorta of all things - in our brig. They weren’t there any longer. It didn’t seem to matter. 60 of mine. 100s of Federation officers. 1000s of brave Cardassians. 1,000.000s of Bejoreans. One ship alone in the dark. '' '' … I was the only one that winter to not have a fire lit in his cell. For me, the cold burned as hot as any blaze. By the end of true winter, my lips were blue, the blood in my veins sluggish. My mind was emptied of everything but the cold. When the sun returned to us, and warmth worked it’s way back into the stone, I awoke, as if from a dream. I was empty. There was nothing in me - no pain, no regret. I did not miss my father - my brother no longer mattered. I was born again, an empty thing on a world of rock. The monks took me to a room, and in the room was a statue - Kahless the Unforgettable, the savior of our people; though he was stone, there was more life in him then in my own flesh. That was the first day I felt it - the fire. That was my first step on towards the Red Path. -- Korrath, Azaram. personal logs.